Wards of Faerie

11

Khyber Elessedil stood at the bow of her personal vessel, the Ard Rhys, and watched as the docks of the Ohmsford home at Patch Run came into view. She had traveled down from Paranor with the new day, wending her way over the peaks of the Dragon’s Teeth until she reached the Mermidon, then traveling down the length of the Runne Mountains to Rainbow Lake and from there across to her destination. She was making the journey with Garroneck and a crew of four, but only out of deference to the wishes of her Captain of the Druid Guard who believed that an Ard Rhys should always travel with an escort.

Otherwise, she would have come alone.

She glanced around momentarily to watch as the Trolls prepared the airship for landing. Garroneck stood at the helm, and while she was certain he was watching her, he showed no signs of doing so.

Vigilance without interference.

She turned back to watch the shoreline. She could see the walls and roof of the Ohmsford house emerge from between the trees of the surrounding forest. The docks were mostly empty of craft; only a couple of skiffs and a barge were in moorage. A large boathouse was situated off to one side, the kind that could be used for dry-docking and repairs. Seabirds circled the shoreline, hundreds strong. Stacks of materials and assorted equipment sat in neatly stacked piles at the ends of the docks and in scattered clumps throughout the grassy rise leading up to the house. A typical workingman’s home if you ignored the absence of any men or work.

Nor was there any sign of the home’s inhabitants.

She thought about Sarys Ohmsford, with whom she would have to deal, and was immediately sad. Sarys Starleigh of the Elves—a woman of strong will and stronger emotions, a mother who loved her sons more than anything and would fight to the death to protect them. Born of a people who had embraced magic for centuries, she had been less entranced than most right from the first. Shy and skittish, she had avoided things that frightened her. Magic was one of them. But when she fell in love with Kierst Ohmsford and discovered the Ohmsford legacy, she was forced to reassess her thinking. Unable to give him up, she had persuaded herself that her children would be among the generations skipped by the magic of the wishsong. The odds were excellent, after all. Her future husband’s father, Penderrin Ohmsford, and his father and his father’s sister, Bek and Grianne Ohmsford, had all possessed it. It was time for the legacy to skip her children as it had their father. If it did not, that would mean three out of four consecutive generations would inherit the magic. That had never happened dating all the way back to the siblings Brin and Jair Ohmsford, who had been the first to have use of it.

Her terror and dismay when she discovered her twin boys had been born with the wishsong had driven a schism between herself and the rest of those in the Ohmsford family who were magic wielders—a schism that even Kierst’s efforts had failed to bridge. Once it was determined that the magic was there, Sarys had undertaken a campaign to make certain that it was never employed. From the time they were small, Redden and Railing Ohmsford had been forbidden to use it or even to acknowledge publicly that the potential for doing so existed.

The death of her husband put a finish to the Ohmsford line save for her boys, unless there were distant relatives out there in the world that no one knew about. So she was immediately confronted with the problem of how to deal with her sons’ growing desire, in the wake of their father’s death, to embrace their unique legacy and explore their magic’s potential. Beyond distraught, she had done her best to stop this. She knew she could not prevent it entirely; she understood their need to satisfy their curiosity. She resorted to negotiation, conceding one use while forbidding another, always doing her best to keep them in check. Part of her strategy was to allow the boys greater freedom in exploring other areas of interest—such as building and flying airships—to keep them distracted. Some freedoms were mandated in any case by the inescapable need for the family to find ways to survive, and her sons proved adept when it came to making favorable trades on the open market. The black market, too, though she would never have admitted to anyone that she knew they were active there, as well.

Khyber considered how she would approach the business at hand. Sarys Ohmsford had not been speaking to her at the time Khyber had gone into the Druid Sleep. In large part it was because her husband had been killed while flying with the Druids, and she had decided for reasons best known to herself that a failure of their magic was the root of the cause. She had forbidden her sons to have contact with any of the Druids and especially Khyber. While she slept, it wasn’t an issue. Now it most certainly would be. But there was no getting past what needed doing, and somehow she must persuade Sarys to allow her sons to aid the very people she distrusted most.

She might as well have been trying to persuade pigs they could fly.

The airship glided toward the docks and settled into the largest of the slips, rolling slightly with the motion of the disturbed waters before coming to rest. While the Troll guards set about securing the mooring lines, Khyber walked back to where Garroneck stood at the ship’s helm.

“When we are secured, I want you and your men to wait here for me. Let me go up to the house alone.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “Yes, Mistress.”

She relented. “You can wait for me on the dock, if you wish. But Sarys Ohmsford is a difficult woman, and she won’t like it if I trudge up to the front door of her house with Troll guards at my back.”

“She won’t like having you here under any circumstances.” Garroneck’s implacable face showed no hint of humor. “But that is as it may be. My men and I will wait.”

She left him where he was, walked over to the railing door, slipped the latch, and climbed down the rope ladder ten rungs to the dock. By now, Sarys would know who had arrived. She would already be angry and worried. Something would have to be done quickly to diffuse both. Khyber was already thinking about what that something might be.

Redden and Railing Ohmsford had grown from boys to young men in the time she had slept the Druid Sleep. She had known them when they were little. She had visited them and spoken with them and taken them for airship rides with their father. But with their father’s death, all that had stopped. Most of their growing up had taken place without her. She had no idea how they would see her now. She had made certain the family was watched over from afar, and so she knew something of how the boys had turned out. Wild, unpredictable, brash, and daring—that was the report on their involvement with airships, particularly Sprints. They were frequently in trouble, but always able to extricate themselves, although sometimes it required help from their Rover cousins. Their mother knew less than half of a half of what they did, but she had been successful, mostly, in keeping them from using the magic.

That, of course, would have to change.

How could she get Sarys to agree? Perhaps the boys would help her with this. If they were present, they might find her offer intriguing enough to take her side. But she didn’t want to pit a mother against her sons in this matter, creating a breach that might never be repaired, so she had to be careful in her choice of words. Telling Sarys too much would be fatal to her chances; she would have to skirt the edges.

She climbed the trail from the docks to the house, her legs stiff-gaited with age and her breath shortened long before she completed the climb. She had aged and worn down while she slept, though not nearly as much as she might have had she been awake. The problem was that she was already aging when she went to sleep, though she might try to deny it. Elves lived longer than humans, but their longevity wasn’t as pronounced as it had been in the time of Faerie.

Listen to me, she thought. Indulging in self-pity and remorse. What next? Regret for lost youth and no child of my own?

She said it to herself, in the privacy of her mind, where no one could hear. But she said it only half in jest, and her smile was bitter.

She had gotten to within a dozen feet of the porch when the door opened and Sarys stepped out to confront her, tall and slender and regal, eyes as hard as stones.

“You are not welcome here,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, blocking the way.

Khyber stopped where she was and nodded. “I know that. But I am here because I have no other choice.”

Sarys made a face. “The reason doesn’t matter. You have been told not to come. You waste my time and yours. Go back to Paranor.”

“I cannot do that until you hear what I have to say.”

“Nothing you have to say is of any interest to me. Nothing ever will be. Get back aboard your ship and fly out of here. Do it right now.”

Khyber held her ground, not moving, not speaking. She just stood there, her eyes locked on Sarys, waiting her out.

“I thought you were in the Druid Sleep,” the other woman said finally.

“I was, but something happened that brought me awake. The Four Lands are in danger, Sarys—threatened by the very thing that you fear most. By magic. By magic so powerful that if it were to fall into the wrong hands, it would put us all at desperate risk.”

“But those ‘wrong hands’ would not be your own, of course.” Sarys shook her head. “No, never the clever hands of the Druids. You would use the magic wisely, wouldn’t you?”

“We would at least use it in an informed way. Or perhaps not use it at all, but put it away where it could not be misused.” She paused, holding the other woman’s gaze. “May I please come inside so that we can sit down and talk? If you find what I have to say repellent, ask me to leave then. I will have had my say and be gone from here. But I must at least speak to you first.”

Sarys shook her head, and suddenly there was a glint of tears at the corners of her eyes. “You took Kierst from me, and now you want to hurt my boys. Whatever you intend, that will be the unavoidable result.” She wiped furiously at her face. “Look what you’ve done to me, just by coming here like this.”

“I didn’t come here to hurt your boys. You know better. I came because I am compelled. Please let me explain.”

“Go away, Ard Rhys. Go away, and never come back.”

“I can’t do that. If I don’t speak to you, I must at least speak to Redden and Railing.”

“No!” She shrieked the word. Her face transformed into something terrifying, and she came halfway down the steps, her posture suddenly menacing. “You will not speak to my boys! Not ever! Do you hear me, witch? Not ever!”

“Then you must let me speak to you. Let me explain what has brought me and then you can decide how necessary this visit is.”

Sarys was incensed, her hands clenched, her face contorted in fury. “Get out of here!”

“If I don’t speak with you, I will have to speak with your sons.”

“If you say one word to them—just one word—I will see you dead!”

Sarys’s voice was low and quiet and hard. There was no mistaking her commitment to carrying out her threat if she were forced to do so. But Khyber had been threatened before, and she knew when threats were real and when they were simply born of desperation.

She came forward until she was standing at the bottom of the veranda stairs within arm’s reach of Sarys Ohmsford. “I came to you out of respect. I could have avoided you entirely and gone straight to Redden and Railing. You wouldn’t have known if I had. I could still do so. And I will, if you continue to refuse me. No, Sarys.” She held up one hand in warning as the other started to speak. “No more threats. Threats are beneath you. You are better than that. Stop arguing with me and listen to what I have to say or you will force me to do exactly what I have been trying to avoid. You will force me to go behind your back.”

Sarys stood her ground. “You don’t scare me, Khyber.”

“Good. Then neither of us holds an advantage over the other. Let’s go inside and sit down and talk. Please.”

There was a long moment of indecision before the other woman finally nodded, turned around reluctantly, and led the way up the porch steps into the house. She took Khyber into the kitchen and without a word set about making them both tea. When she had completed the task, she brought the cups to the table at which Khyber was sitting and joined her.

“This changes nothing,” she said pointedly.

Khyber nodded. It did, of course, but there was no reason to say so. “Are you well?” she asked instead.

Sarys smiled faintly. “Say what you’ve come to say. Don’t waste my time. I want you gone as quickly as possible.”

“Then listen well, Sarys.” Khyber put down her tea. “The existence of a very powerful magic, an ancient Elven magic, has been discovered quite by chance. As yet, only the Druids know about it. But that may change. It is important that we find and secure it before certain others do—others less dedicated to protecting the Four Lands.”

“By that, you mean the Federation, of course,” Sarys sneered.

“I mean men and women throughout the Four Lands for whom power is an elixir and an addiction. I mean anyone who thinks that wielding magic is a way to enhance their own status and will use it at the expense of others. They are out there, and we both know it. Who they are affiliated with matters not in the least. Their intentions are what trouble me.”

She sipped at her tea but didn’t look away from the other woman. “I was uncertain what to do when I learned about this magic, and so I went to ask the advice of the shades of the dead. Often they know things hidden from the living, and I was hopeful that they would help me in my search for this magic. One of those shades, a very powerful Druid now long dead, came to me and told me something of what I needed to know. Among the things it told me was that my fears were justified—the danger of a misuse of the magic, should it fall into the wrong hands, was real. It also told me one thing more. It told me that when I went in search of this lost magic I must take with me both Redden and Railing—that they were crucial to my success in finding where the magic was hidden.”

She was skirting the edges of the truth, trying to avoid anything that suggested the twins would be in any danger. Sarys was staring at her openmouthed. “Actually,” she continued, “the shade told me that the quest to find the magic would fail without your sons to help me. It gave me no explanation of why that was so. But in all of the great quests and struggles that have defined the history of the Four Lands since the recovery of the Sword of Shannara and the defeat of the Warlock Lord, there have been Ohmsfords involved. I think it is their destiny, Sarys. I think it is the family’s destiny. You and I, we might wish it otherwise, but we have nothing to say about it.”

The other woman nodded slowly. “You have nothing to say about it, perhaps. But I most certainly do.”

“But is the choice yours to make? Do you speak for your sons? Or will you let them speak for themselves?”

“In this instance, I will speak for them. They are not going. Find someone else to help you with this nonsense.”

“There is no one else.” Khyber sipped delicately at her tea, watching the other carefully. “You have raised your boys to look after themselves and not to depend on you. They are boys in name only. They are almost men. How ready are they to make wise choices? How well have you taught them? Have you faith in their ability to reason things out?”

Sarys laughed softly. “What I have faith in is none of your business. What I know is that your ability to manipulate, like that of all Druids, is boundless. What I know is that trickery and deceit are the tools of your trade. When it comes to magic there is nothing you would not do to achieve your ends. If that is what compels you, so be it. I wish you well. But you will not entangle my sons in your schemes. I will not allow it.”

“Even if the Four Lands are at risk? Even if we are all at risk? At what point does the danger become sufficient that you will set aside your prejudices and permit the needs of the many to override your fears and persuade you to do the right thing?”

“Not when you are the one who suggests I must!” Sarys snapped. “You have no right to tell me what I should do when it comes to my sons!”

Khyber took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “This quest must be undertaken. The danger must be overcome before the threat grows too large to control. We are at a crucial juncture in our history, Sarys. Science has begun to resurface as a force that will determine the direction of our evolution as a culture. It was lost and shunned with the destruction of the Old World in the cataclysm of the Great Wars. And rightfully so. But now we find remnants of it being rediscovered and put to use in such terrible struggles as the war on the Prekkendorran. It competes with magic for dominance. Each new discovery, each fresh revelation, shifts our perspective on whether it might be time to reintroduce science into the world. Now, all at once, a magic thought lost forever reemerges. If it is recovered, the struggle between magic and science will escalate. No matter where we stand on the issue, no matter how we feel about it, we cannot afford to pretend it doesn’t matter. We cannot ignore its potential impact. History tells us what will happen if we fail to act. I know it and you know it, too, even if you refuse to acknowledge it.”

She paused, shook her head. “I don’t like having to come here. I would not be here at all if I were not convinced that your sons’ help is necessary. I do not intend that they should be forced to do anything. But I do intend that they be given a chance to decide for themselves.”

Sarys seemed to be thinking it over, and then she said, “Well, any decision will have to wait. They’re not here. They’ve gone camping with a friend. I don’t know when they will return. Come back when they have and ask them then.”

It was such an obvious attempt at trying to avoid the inevitable that Khyber almost felt sorry for her. But feeling sorry for anyone in this business was something she could not afford.

“Where have they gone? They must have told you.”

“They tell me little these days. They left yesterday with a friend. On an airship. They could be anywhere by now. I can’t help you.”

Khyber was silent a moment. “You are aware of the Ohmsford family history—especially that which is most recent and which has impacted you and your family most directly. Where would we all be now if Bek Ohmsford had not gone with Walker Boh to Parkasia on the Jerle Shannara? Where would we all be if he had not found his lost sister and helped her become Ard Rhys before me? If he had not then fathered Penderrin and helped bring an end to the war on the Prekkendorran and closed the door into the Forbidding, would we be here at all? Not many know this part of our history; most never will. But you know it, Sarys. Your husband told you. Penderrin told you. In each case, a choice was made by a young man to do the right thing—not to refuse to participate because it was too dangerous but to accept what fate and circumstance had given them to do.”

“What Druids had given them to do! Isn’t that what you mean?” Sarys was stone-faced. “What you would now give my sons to do? Tell me what that is, why don’t you! Tell me what you would ask of them!”

“I would ask them to make the same choice as their ancestors. I don’t want to have to involve them. I don’t even want to be here. But I cannot ignore what is staring me in the face. Magic is a part of our lives. It has been so since the time of the Great Wars. We can’t pretend otherwise. Magic defines who we are, your family and mine. We ignore this at our peril. Magic is a gift and a curse. If we manage it in the right way, it can be of great benefit. If we don’t, we risk destroying ourselves.”

“You have chosen to make this your work, Khyber. My sons have not. I will not allow them to be dragged into your machinations. I refuse to help you. You had better go.”

Khyber nodded. “You know that sooner or later I will find a way to speak with them, don’t you?”

“I know nothing of what you will or won’t do, and I care even less. Please leave.”

Khyber rose and stood looking down at her. “Who is the friend they went camping with?”

Sarys shook her head stubbornly. “Was it Mirai Leah?”

She saw the look of shock and anger that flashed across the other woman’s face and knew she had guessed right. She felt a quick surge of satisfaction, but also an odd sense of shame.

“Do you spy on us, witch?” Sarys Ohmsford cried. “Are you so desperate that you must stoop to that? Get out of my house!”

Khyber did not move. “When I leave here, I will travel to Leah and ask the same questions of Mirai’s father. He will tell me what you won’t. Then I will fly to wherever Redden and Railing have gone and speak with them. Fate and circumstance have made it necessary, Sarys. You cannot avoid either any more than I can. Now tell me where to find them. Do the right thing.”

Sarys rose slowly and faced her down. “My sons will never agree to go with you. I have made certain of that, Ard Rhys. I have taught them of the Druids’ schemes and their destructive history. You are wasting your time.”

“Then let me find that out for myself. Let me go to them and tell them of my need. Let them refuse me face-to-face.” Khyber kept her voice calm and even. “Do not presume to speak for them. They will resent you for it. You raised them to think for themselves and to act as they determined best, didn’t you? Prove it here.”

There were fresh tears in Sarys Ohmsford’s eyes as the women faced each other across the table. “I hate you,” Sarys said softly. “I hate all of you. You Druids, who think you are so special and believe so deeply in your twisted causes. I hate you with every fiber of my being.”

Khyber nodded. “You are entitled to that.”

“If the earth opened and swallowed every last one of you, I would not shed a single tear. I would rejoice. Druids, with your magic and your black arts, twisting the lives of others, shaping events to your own purpose. I despise you.”

Khyber said nothing, waiting.

Sarys looked away, suddenly defeated. “They are in Bakrabru,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” Khyber said.

The other woman looked back again, a hint of disbelief in her dark eyes. “I don’t know why I am helping you.”

“Because it is the right thing. Because you trust your sons.”

“But not you, witch. I don’t trust you.”

Khyber kept her anger carefully in check. “I will say nothing to them I do not know to be true. I will do nothing to force them to choose. I will leave it to them. Even if I could make the choice for them, I would not. Help of the sort that is required of Redden and Railing can only be useful if it is given freely.”

Sarys smiled thinly. “If you say so.”

Khyber hesitated a moment longer before nodding and turning away. She was at the door when the other woman called out to her.

“If anything happens to my sons,” she said, her words sharp and bitter and coated in ice, “you had better make certain it happens to you first. Otherwise, I will kill you, Khyber Elessedil. Whatever it takes to do so, I will kill you.”

The Ard Rhys of the Fourth Druid Order remained perfectly still, looking out toward the waters of Rainbow Lake and the dark sweep of storm clouds moving in from the west.

I believe you, she thought.

Then she went out the door and down the path that would take her back to her airship and her Troll guard and did not look back.